I sit in the corner of the stark containment chamber, my silver eyes fixed on the observation window. Bloodstains still mark my clothing, a silent reminder of the events that led to my containment. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a cold glow across the barren concrete walls.

A soft buzz emanates from the intercom system before the heavy door to the observation room slides open. I watch as John enters, carrying a clipboard and a steaming cup of coffee. His lab coat hangs open over a simple dress shirt, and dark circles under his eyes suggest another long night at the facility.

He takes a seat in front of the observation window, setting his coffee down on the metal table beside him. Our eyes meet through the reinforced glass as he picks up his clipboard.

"Good morning," he says, his voice coming through the intercom system. "How are you feeling today?"